A New Post
My husband is keeping a scorecard when it comes to the winter snowstorms this year. It's not how many inches we are getting, but how many mailboxes on our street will be taken down by the town plows this time? I think the number is hovering around 21.
The snows have been infrequent here this year. But the ones that have had some accumulation have brought with it this new accounting that has driven my husband to distraction.
We live on a narrow, country road, six miles out of town. We see the occasional police cruiser, but there's not much crime here. We do, however, have our fair share of what I call post-box vandals. I think its teens in cars with baseball bats performing drive-by mischief. As they drive along the road at night, the driver lines up the target. Another leans out the passenger side window with a baseball bat, or similar instrument, and slams the rural-style mailbox fixed on a post at the curb. It's sort of like striking a ball off of a tee. Around Halloween, the percentage of postbox vandalism increases. I have never actually witnessed this phenomenon, but judging from the postal post-mortems I've seen, I think it's accurate.
We've seen many neighbors become rather creative with their mailboxes to avoid being hit again. Mailboxes on swinging chains, mailboxes encased in concrete or wooden barriers, mailboxes that are taken in at night and put out each morning, just to name a few.
For many years now, our mailbox escaped notice of the vandals. My husband theorized that our post is too close to a telephone pole, making striking the box in a moving car a more dangerous proposition. A teenage driver would most likely not have the nerve to try it when there are so many easier targets to choose from. Too much chance of the box bouncing off the pole onto the car, or hitting the pole with one's bat while driving by.
Then came the snowstorms of December and January. After each storm, as we would venture down the street to school or work, we'd see a few scattered mailboxes in the snowpiles that lined the street. A reasonable person could understand an occasional mailbox collision with the corner of a plow during a dark and blinding snowstorm. There are several mailboxes that could be at risk on our street. But no, we were counting two, three, four in a row -- all launched from their posts--and many of their posts were missing too! This increased frequency was no random baseball bat bandit. This was the work of something much stronger, able to rip the blasted post out of the ground while still moving.
My husband continued his count of mailboxes lost with each snowfall. His notion is that we have a plowdriver taking delight in causing such havoc at the taxpayer's expense. Like maybe there's a team of drivers competing for a prize. Or maybe there are plow trucks with little notches scratched into their bumpers to show off how many mailboxes they've hit. Maybe its a postbox vandal that never grew up, I say. Either way, up until this past weekend, we were observers of the problem, now we were victims of it.
Our mailbox and post were ripped away after the most recent snowplowing of our street. We were amazed at the driving precision needed to avoid the telephone pole proximity. We knew it was a professional hit. My husband grumbled (alot) and added our fallen mailbox to his tally.
Fortunately, we had a spare mailbox in the garage. Even more fortunately, we had some warmer weather that allowed my husband to make the repair. He did this while I was out on an errand.
As I entered the driveway upon my return, I admired the shiny new box at the curb. I stopped to see if there was any mail in it. Carefully observing my husband's craftsmanship, and silently thanking God that he is so handy, I noticed a large spring attached to one side of the horizontal post under the mailbox. Curious, I thought. Then I saw the industrial-strength hinges on the other side. I get it, as I gave the box a push from the side that would most likely field a blow from an on-coming vehicle. The thing is spring-loaded as to "breakaway" when struck by force, then return to its original position! While grateful that my husband engineered this, I was also chuckling to myself that this man has been thinking about this stuff a little too deeply. He needs a hobby.
Now I am not condoning vandalism, and I am not accusing all plowdrivers of inconsiderate or insincere motives. Those who leave the comfort of hearth and home during a storm are performing a much-needed public service that I am grateful for time and again. However, the postal box is like hallowed ground. (Not to mention it's illegal to tamper with someone's mail.) Important communications could be lost if I forgot to bring in the mail one day, and later that night the mailbox disappeared. I would be happy to see such senseless destruction of private property stop: I have a son who is waiting each day for the mail to arrive, eagerly anticipating college acceptance letters. I'd like to know those letters have half a chance to arrive intact. I'm sure my neighbors have similar concerns.
In the meantime, we're awaiting the next snowfall, hoping our mailbox is not put to the test.
I'll keep you posted.
Copyright 2006 Patricia W. Gohn
The snows have been infrequent here this year. But the ones that have had some accumulation have brought with it this new accounting that has driven my husband to distraction.
We live on a narrow, country road, six miles out of town. We see the occasional police cruiser, but there's not much crime here. We do, however, have our fair share of what I call post-box vandals. I think its teens in cars with baseball bats performing drive-by mischief. As they drive along the road at night, the driver lines up the target. Another leans out the passenger side window with a baseball bat, or similar instrument, and slams the rural-style mailbox fixed on a post at the curb. It's sort of like striking a ball off of a tee. Around Halloween, the percentage of postbox vandalism increases. I have never actually witnessed this phenomenon, but judging from the postal post-mortems I've seen, I think it's accurate.
We've seen many neighbors become rather creative with their mailboxes to avoid being hit again. Mailboxes on swinging chains, mailboxes encased in concrete or wooden barriers, mailboxes that are taken in at night and put out each morning, just to name a few.
For many years now, our mailbox escaped notice of the vandals. My husband theorized that our post is too close to a telephone pole, making striking the box in a moving car a more dangerous proposition. A teenage driver would most likely not have the nerve to try it when there are so many easier targets to choose from. Too much chance of the box bouncing off the pole onto the car, or hitting the pole with one's bat while driving by.
Then came the snowstorms of December and January. After each storm, as we would venture down the street to school or work, we'd see a few scattered mailboxes in the snowpiles that lined the street. A reasonable person could understand an occasional mailbox collision with the corner of a plow during a dark and blinding snowstorm. There are several mailboxes that could be at risk on our street. But no, we were counting two, three, four in a row -- all launched from their posts--and many of their posts were missing too! This increased frequency was no random baseball bat bandit. This was the work of something much stronger, able to rip the blasted post out of the ground while still moving.
My husband continued his count of mailboxes lost with each snowfall. His notion is that we have a plowdriver taking delight in causing such havoc at the taxpayer's expense. Like maybe there's a team of drivers competing for a prize. Or maybe there are plow trucks with little notches scratched into their bumpers to show off how many mailboxes they've hit. Maybe its a postbox vandal that never grew up, I say. Either way, up until this past weekend, we were observers of the problem, now we were victims of it.
Our mailbox and post were ripped away after the most recent snowplowing of our street. We were amazed at the driving precision needed to avoid the telephone pole proximity. We knew it was a professional hit. My husband grumbled (alot) and added our fallen mailbox to his tally.
Fortunately, we had a spare mailbox in the garage. Even more fortunately, we had some warmer weather that allowed my husband to make the repair. He did this while I was out on an errand.
As I entered the driveway upon my return, I admired the shiny new box at the curb. I stopped to see if there was any mail in it. Carefully observing my husband's craftsmanship, and silently thanking God that he is so handy, I noticed a large spring attached to one side of the horizontal post under the mailbox. Curious, I thought. Then I saw the industrial-strength hinges on the other side. I get it, as I gave the box a push from the side that would most likely field a blow from an on-coming vehicle. The thing is spring-loaded as to "breakaway" when struck by force, then return to its original position! While grateful that my husband engineered this, I was also chuckling to myself that this man has been thinking about this stuff a little too deeply. He needs a hobby.
Now I am not condoning vandalism, and I am not accusing all plowdrivers of inconsiderate or insincere motives. Those who leave the comfort of hearth and home during a storm are performing a much-needed public service that I am grateful for time and again. However, the postal box is like hallowed ground. (Not to mention it's illegal to tamper with someone's mail.) Important communications could be lost if I forgot to bring in the mail one day, and later that night the mailbox disappeared. I would be happy to see such senseless destruction of private property stop: I have a son who is waiting each day for the mail to arrive, eagerly anticipating college acceptance letters. I'd like to know those letters have half a chance to arrive intact. I'm sure my neighbors have similar concerns.
In the meantime, we're awaiting the next snowfall, hoping our mailbox is not put to the test.
I'll keep you posted.
Copyright 2006 Patricia W. Gohn
posted by Pat Gohn at
1/31/2006
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